


Asking Her to the Dance

by iboughtyouchicken (haleingoutside)



Category: Nothing Much to Do
Genre: Do I even ship it?, Donalduke - Freeform, Who Knows?, i am actual trash, i wrote a thing, nmtd - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:41:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3913333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleingoutside/pseuds/iboughtyouchicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"After all, it was expected that he ask her to the dance. The only thing that wasn’t expected, really, was that he would fall in love with her there."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asking Her to the Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Just a Donalduke oneshot of John taking Hero to the end-of-term dance before they graduate. Do they have end-of-term dances in New Zealand? Do I even ship this ship? Do I ship it romantically or platonically? Who knows? Who cares? I wrote this anyway.

It was expected that he take her to the dance.

A year before, if you had told John Donaldson he’d be taking Hero Duke to their end-of-term dance when they were about to graduate from Year Thirteen, he would’ve laughed in your face. Hero Duke wouldn’t have gone quite that far, but after insisting that John really was a lovely boy, she would have denied it, too.

But things changed, as they are wont to do. John was initiated into the “gang” after his epic return, which ended up teaching Pedro, Claudio, and Hero many valuable lessons about forgiveness. Surprisingly for many, Hero was the most willing to move on. She recognized that John had his own burdens, his own demons, and like the angel she was, she wouldn’t let that disqualify him from belonging.

And then the “gang” broke up, as many secondary school friend groups are wont to do. Beatrice and Ben went to uni, though they still came back ridiculously often for two students on their budget. Balthazar went to a different uni for music. Pedro went to the same uni for Balthazar. Claudio got weird and secretive and started shifting friend groups a bit after their other friends left; he now enjoyed the company solely of the football team and followed Leo like a puppy.

Hero felt a bit lost walking into her first day of school without Bea there, truth be told. Though she had attended school most of her life without Bea, in the Great Year of Vlogging, she had grown accustomed to the strong, fiery presence of her cousin beside her in the halls. She was friends with a couple girls in her year: a nice redhead in her photography class, her brunette lab partner from last year in chemistry, a neighbor named Layla. But Hero missed Bea, and thoughts of her silly tee shirts and laughs with Ben were a distraction throughout the morning of the first day until she ran into John.

John, who walked with her to her next class and sat beside her, only to find out that those were their assigned seats for the rest of term.

John, who laughed with her at lunch when she poked fun at him for his unusual choice of a tuna salad and honey sandwich. (Really, Hero had a general policy of keeping an open mind but that was just disgusting.)

John, who became her partner for their history project a few weeks later, and who, when he came over to work on it, was taught the Electric Slide by a very insistent Hero. (“John Donaldson, what do you mean you don’t know the Electric Slide?! Yes, I know we’ve got to work on a project, but now is not the time to be studious. Now is the time to dance.”)

John, who came over and made tea when Layla the neighbor called Hero a slut in front of their entire class.

John, who sat with her on the sofa for hours as she spilled how hurt she had been by Layla’s words and by his actions.

John, who shed a tear of his own in the most heartfelt and heartbreaking apology.

John, who made a solemn pact with Hero that night that they would share everything with each other: when they were feeling lonely, when they were in others’ shadows, when they felt like they were coming apart at the seams.

John, who made Hero laugh immediately afterward by putting on the Electric Slide and dancing (terribly) around the living room.

They were an unlikely pair: John Donaldson, lover of black and ex-captain of Team Evil, and Hero Duke, who made circle skirts and brownies and far too much tea to be considered normal. It was like the moon and the sun, really: one made for darkness, one bringing light.

But perhaps that was why they worked so well together. John let Hero speak the things she wouldn’t say to anyone else, for fear that it would ruin her reputation as a perfect angel. Hero made John smile, which was a pretty distinguished feat, if she did say so herself. The moon allowed the sun to let slip what she was afraid to say other than in darkness; the sun reminded the moon that there was light.

And so it went that they grew and changed through their Year Thirteen, similar to how everyone else had changed in the Great Year of Vlogging except with significantly fewer traumatic events. John gave Hero rides home in his truck every couple days. Hero laughed at the advertisements on his radio, which made John laugh at her cute giggle. They talked things through. They listened. Hero became more confident. John became more optimistic.

Optimistic enough, even, to ask Hero to be his date to the end-of-term dance.

It turned out that the entire student body, save a couple hopeful souls who thought John’s insistence on wearing only black was moody and mysterious and sexy, was expecting it. Hero spent her Tuesday lunches without John, as he was at therapy then, and instead sat with a group of girls from her photography class. On this particular Tuesday, they enlightened her with the knowledge that everyone thought she and John were a solid bet for dance dates. One of her friends, Toni, had even told a boy named Alexander the other day that he shouldn’t ask Hero to the dance, because she was going with John.

Hero was incredulous at first. After all, she didn’t even know if John wanted to attend; dressing up wasn’t really his thing, and social events weren’t either. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized how incomplete her evening would be without him. Subconsciously, she had been anticipating the sight of his truck at the foot of her driveway, the corsage he would pick out, climbing up in the truck in her pretty dress. She had been looking forward to the inside jokes they’d share about the night; without him there, by her side, the entire time… she felt she’d miss something.

So it was fortunate that he asked her the very next day. It was one of their usual rides home, windows down, perfect weather, an old American singer from the 1950s playing out of John’s battered radio. He looked over at Hero, blonde hair flying in wisps around her face, and just blurted it out. She accepted, of course, and they went about the rest of the drive as usual. It wasn’t like this had changed everything; they were just close friends who wanted each other’s company for a night of high heels and formalwear and probably a lot of drama (which they were now skilled at avoiding). When Hero told her friends the following day that John had asked her to the dance, they all squealed with excitement. After all, it was expected that he ask her to the dance.

The only thing that wasn’t expected, really, was that he would fall in love with her there.

* * *

 “Hero, sweetheart, John’s here!”

“Coming, Mum!” Hero shouted down the stairs. She slipped her feet into a pair of simple heels, did one last touch of lip gloss, and checked over herself one last time in the mirror.

The dress was probably a little too similar than the one she had worn to her birthday the year before, the one that still hung in the back of her closet, tainted with the memories of slutshaming and tears cried and cake uneaten. The one she donned now was strapless and a slightly greener shade of blue, more like the ocean than the sky. Her hair was down, and her shoes were different. Though she knew it was silly to put so much feeling into one night, into one dress, she couldn’t help but think that it was all very metaphorical. She was still Hero, just grown a bit. Changed a bit. Shaken up a bit but still her. Different dress, same girl, and stronger because of all that she had been through.

Oh, nonononono, she could not cry right now. It would ruin the eye makeup she had carefully applied for half an hour.

Before Hero had time for her emotions to get the better of her, she grabbed her handbag and rushed into the hallway to descend the stairs. The sight of John at the foot of them, making polite and friendly conservation with her mums and holding a bouquet of flowers, made her break out into an enormous grin and wave ecstatically.

That was John’s first sight of her that night.

When he looked up, he saw the kindest, best person he had ever known grinning from ear to ear, dressed impeccably, with hair that looked like a halo around a face that looked even more angelic. Waving at him like there was no one else she’d rather see in the world.

And just like that, John Donaldson was a goner.

**Author's Note:**

> Even after writing this probably sickening fluff, I'm still not sure if I ship it. Oh, well. Enjoy the Donalduke ya crazy flamangoes.
> 
> Love,  
> iboughtyouchicken


End file.
